this is our home, we just don't have a door
by timeladyelf
Summary: the one where Jason isn't getting involved, something is going on at the Manor, Bruce and Alfred are out of town, and Jason isn't getting involved.


Jason isn't getting involved.

 _He's not._

There's a loud crash in the attic, followed by the distinctive sound of rushed footsteps.

Jason sips his tea and unlocks his phone. He waits for the Candy Crush app to load.

 _He is not getting involved._

"Hey, Jason, have you, by any chance, seen Dick?" Tim asks, leaning against the kitchen's doorway like nothing's happening, like it's perfectly normal for the kid to be covered in grass and mud and leaves. "Or the brat, for that matter?"

"What the-" no. Nope. _No._ He's not asking, because Jason _isn't getting involved._ He schools his features back into indifference, "nope."

There. He _could_ have mention the whatever the fuck was going on in the attic, but then again, watching Replacement huff and puff and scowl is so much more entertaining. Besides, you know. Fuck whatever is going on.

Tim shifts uncomfortably, plucks a leaf from his hair, but before he says anything else, there's shouting coming from the east wing. He curses and takes off, leaving dirt on his wake.

Jason shrugs.

He's pondering over the merits of a sandwich when something goes off in the distance.

Jason recognizes the sounds, the smoke, the yellow flames. It's definitely C4. And probably fireworks too.

An annoying little voice in his head, that totally does _not_ sound like Dick, nags at him, says maybe he should check it out.

In the one hand, explosions are messy, _fun_ , but messy, and neither Bats nor Alfred are here. On the other hand, this is a house filled with _Batman's_ little minions.

Yeah, sure, he can go for a sandwich right now.

The thing about the Manor is that it's filled with ghosts.

Every _fucking_ corner.

Like, right now. Jason's in the kitchen, making a sandwich out of yesterday's leftovers he found hidden in the fridge behind the milk carton.

But if he pays attention, if he just turns his head to look at his left, near the wall-

\- there's the small wooden stool he used to push near the stove and stand on to look into whatever Alfred was doing and help stir the pot of soup and marvel and wonder, giddy and disbelieving and laughing, at all the food being prepared and he's never going to have to feel the icy fingers of hunger clawing at his ribcage and thirst lapping at his stomach, and then Alfred would turn to him and _smile_ , his lips twitching upwards, eyebrows raised, and kind eyes smiling too at Jason and-

\- Jason finishes his sandwich.

The thing about the Manor is that there's a ghost in every fucking corner, and sometimes-

Sometimes Jason thinks he's one of them too.

"Jaybird!" Dick says. _Loudly_. Beaming with a thousand watts grin. It's bright and genuine and brilliant and it makes Jason grind his teeth and fight valiantly to suppress the urge to recoil and hiss like an angry cat. But Dick being Dick ignores it all, "wait, is that a spring roll on your sandwich? _Is that last week's pizza?"_

Jason has a choice here. He could comment on the grease and dirt and soot all over his face and clothes and hands. He _could_. It's all rather noticeable. But then, knowing his brother, if he did, it would lead into unnecessary complications and devolve into an explanation of what the fuck is happening and then Jason would inevitably end up getting involved.

So instead, he takes a bite from his sandwich and hopes if he doesn't engage, Dick will go away.

But, as nothing in his life is easy, Dick speaks again, "you know what, nevermind. Have you seen Damian? Or Cass? We need to regroup and come up with a better plan, Tim's down and the tool shack is clear but compromised, so-"

There's a headache looming in the back of his head. It's lurking and building and growing and Jason feels his hands itching to reach for his gun and threaten the grin out of his face, "I'm gonna stop you right there, Dickface. I don't want to know. Haven't seen the brat today. Or Cassie. Go bother someone else."

He watches the idiot deflate, pouting, "oh, okay then." He turns around, but pokes his head back, smiling again, "also if Steph shows up, can you tell her to check the basement?"

"No, go away."

Jason twitches as Dick's laughter echoes around the halls.

"Brother."

Jason almost smiles, looking up to see Cass coming through the window. She closes and locks it before hopping up and sitting in the counter. "Hey, sis."

"Hiding from Dick," she says, laughter in her voice, "can I stay?"

"Sure," Jason agrees. He's still not getting involved, but he's also not passing up on the chance of messing with his stupid brother, "he's already checked here, but he might come back, though. Dickiebird isn't the smartest cookie around, but he looked desperate enough."

Cass giggles, looking young and happy, and this time Jason smiles. She's one of the few birds that don't make him want to throw up on sight, and, out of them all, she's probably the one who understands him best.

She's also isn't one for talking his ear off, so that helps too.

"Want a sandwich too?" he asks, craning his neck to look inside the fridge without getting up, "we still have yesterday's Chinese take out and- is that chili? Yeah, cold chili."

"Gross," she makes a face. Then there's footsteps approaching and Cass is on her feet and half through the other window before Jason can throw a fried chicken at her, "I was never here."

He nods solemnly at her and waves goodbye.

When Dick knocks on the closed window, Jason flips him off without looking up.

Wait.

Didn't he hide his emergency C4 in the tool shack a couple of months earlier?

Oh, well.

Damian is lurking in the doorway.

Jason knows that because he'd looked up from where he was losing spectacularly at Candy Crush fifteen minutes ago and seen a glimpse of black and blue and recognized Dick's old hoodie.

The brat's sneaky, he'll give him that, but Jason was a kid in this house first; he knows sneaking into the kitchen when he sees it.

But whatever, that had been fifteen minutes ago and the Demon Spawn is still sulking in the shadows. It's starting to lean into creepy and unnerving territory.

"So," Jason calls out, "are you going to hide there forever or what, kid?"

There's faint cursing in Arabic and then Damian marches inside, scowling and frowning. He looks a mini-Bruce through and through. "Todd. I demand you tell me where she is."

Jason sighs. What is it with this people and misplacing each other? "Haven't seen Cass today, Demon Wonder."

"What do I care for Cain's whereabouts? Don't play dumb. Where is she?" The kid all but stomps his feet, "tell me while I still have mercy on you!"

"Well, haven't seen Steph either, so shoo. Go look somewhere else."

"I have no use for the Fatgirl either!" Damian sounds dangerously close to whining, "Todd, I know you are a dense but I'm warning you, tell me where she is!"

"Oh, for the love of god!" Jason throws his hands up, "who the fu- _hell_ , are you talking about? Is it Babs? Or, I don't know, Kate? Maybe, Talia? Do you want your mommy, kid? And why on earth are you asking _me_?"

"Todd, this is the last time I ask-"

"Damian! There you are, you little brat!" Tim careens through the door, panting and covered in soot and glaring, "we've been looking all over for you, you ungrateful demon-"

"Drake! Fetch me my sword! I'm interrogating Todd!"

Now that he stops to look at the kid, Jason can see grit and mud showing from where the hoodie is falling off his shoulders, and there's a hole on his jeans at his left knee.

But none of that matters because then Tim is grabbing the brat by the arm and limping away with him, kicking and screaming and bickering all the way.

Jason falls off his chair laughing.

"Yo, Jason-"

"Basement."

"Why are you laying on the-"

"Basement."

No one asked what he's doing here.

Jason isn't sure if he should be offended or touched.

But then again, Bruce isn't around to be his usual brooding and distant and stoic self.

Not that Jason cares. He _doesn't._ He's just trying to adjust to the fact that whatever insanity is going on in the house ranks above the fact the Red Hood is in their kitchen.

Sure, it's not like he actively tried to kill any of them lately; somehow time and distance and forced connections had worn him thin, had mellowed out the rage and betrayal and anger burning incandescent in his chest. All that was left was old wounds and scar tissue and resignation. As long as no one stokes the fire, he can stick around in the ashes for a bit.

Even so, there's bruises blooming on his pride and ego, because come on. He seized control of half Crime Alley's drug rings overnight. He sent a duffel bag filled with decapitated heads. He tried to kill at least half of the little birds in different, separate occasions.

At the very least, he should rank above the usual shenanigans in the alarm scale.

Again, a little voice that does not sound like Dickface at all, reminds him that he's currently laying in the kitchen floor with his jacket as a pillow. That's not very threatening. Or dignified.

Jason thinks back at the varying states of disaster that the batlings had come in.

Dignified isn't exactly a word he would apply to the situation.

"Jason."

No.

This isn't happening. Jason's still dreaming. He wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow night and by then Jason would've already gotten the hell out of dodge.

"Jason, I know you are awake." Bruce says, and Jason can _hear_ the eye roll on his voice, "why are you on the floor?"

There's no escaping, is there?

"I fell." He shrugs, getting to his feet and putting the table between them.

Bruce looks like he wants to press, but shakes his head instead, "where is everyone?"

Jason is about to say _hell if I know_ , but then something moves by the window behind Bats.

Outside, he can see Dick, Tim and Damian crossing the gardens carrying what looks like a giant yellow python. Steph and Cass follow behind ready to help if the snake breaks free.

"Well?" Bruce is getting impatient. Jason can see it in the twitching of his eyebrow and the clenched jaw. "I have learned not to trust the silence."

Jason isn't getting involved. _He isn't getting involved._ He promised himself he wasn't going to get involved.

But Dick is now poking his head in the kitchen, silently pleading for him to keep Bats busy while they smuggle the _freaking giant yellow snake_ inside the house.

He sighs, steeling himself for this.

Damn it all to hell.

" _Hello, Jason. How are you, Jason. It's been a while, Jason._ " He says, scowling and crossing his arms, "I see how it is, nevermind me, then. Go on, don't let me keep you."

It works like magic. Bruce straightens, shifting uncomfortably at the prospect of dealing with him. "No, that's not what I- it's just the quiet. This house is never quiet and- did you hear that?"

Yes, Jason had, indeed, heard that. He had heard the hissing of the giant ass snake Dick, Tim, Damian _and_ Cass are carrying inside. The four little lunatics had frozen in place, looking wide eyed at Jason, because apparently he's their goddamn fairy godmother sent to fix all their goddamn problems.

He sighs inwardly, and scowls harder before Bruce turns around. "All I heard is you trying to change the subject."

" _Jason-"_ the man takes a deep breath, "fine. You're right, I'm sorry. How have you been?"

The snake is almost all past the doorway, he can already see Steph holding the tail.

"Well, it doesn't count _now._ You're only asking because I said that." Jason says, deciding to bring out the big guns as Steph struggles to hold the flicking tail without making a sound. He looks down, frowning, "it's not like I missed you and shit anyway."

Just for the record, he _didn't._

Finally, the doorway is clear and the flock of nutjobs has disappeared without a trace, and he can breathe again.

Except now there are arms around him and Jason is suddenly in the receiving end of the world's most awkward hug in the history of ever.

See? This is why Jason didn't want to get involved. All the crazy shit this family pulls? They have a knack of coming back to bite him in the ass later. It's uncanny, really.

Goddamn Dickface with his goddamn puppy eyes.

This is all his fault. This is all his fucking fault and Jason is going to go shoot himself in the head now but when he gets back he is so going to kick his ass because he did not sign up for this. In fact, _fuck this._

"Uh. Bruce?" No answer. He pats him in the back awkwardly. "Can we not. Do this. Like, right fucking now."

To his credit, the man does let go as soon as he asks.

They still linger, unsure of what to say and what to do, because this Manor has ghosts in every fucking corner, and right now it's like watching a memory play itself out, the past reaching out and Jason is thirteen again and Bruce still laughs every once in a while and makes him hot chocolate after patrol and-

-and he snaps back to the present.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Bruce sounds, well, not hopeful, but his eyes soften, "it's getting late."

It's an olive branch in a series of white flags, and Jason thinks- maybe. _Maybe._

"Yeah, su-" flashbacks play before his eyes. Tim covered in mud. Dick covered in soot. Damian screaming for his sword. Cass and Steph giggling. They all carrying a giant python inside the house. "You know what, I already had a sandwich like, half an hour ago. I'm good. But another day, sure," he starts backing away slowly towards the door, "I'll be in touch, see ya later, Bats."

Jason is already on his bike speeding through the gates when he hears the screaming begin. He accelerates, feeling the wind whipping all over him and the sun setting on his back, and laughs.


End file.
